I glanced at Jill, who was looking at me. I said to her, “I’m sure he sounds more polite this time than he did five years ago.”
She forced a smile.
The next message said, “Jill, this is Bud. I got a very upsetting call here at my office about what happened five years ago. You remember, Jill, that we both promised each other, and we promised other people that we’d keep that between ourselves, and that they’d do the same. Now, someone tells me that you want to talk to other people about that. You can’t do that, Jill, and you know why you can’t do that. If you don’t care about yourself, or about me, then think about your boys, and about Mark, and also about Arlene, who I know you like, and my kids, too. This would be a complete disaster for lots of innocent people, Jill. What happened, happened. It’s in the past. No matter what you say to anyone, or to the news media, I’ll have to say you’re not telling the truth. Jill, if you made a copy of that tape, you should destroy it.”
Bud went on awhile, his voice sometimes strident, sometimes panicky, then a little whiny. This guy was a complete asshole. But to be fair, his life was about to come crashing down around him and like most guys who have diddled, he didn’t think his diddling should have such a high price. Bottom line, Bud’s worst nightmare just became real.
Bud ended with, “Please, Jill, call me. Call me for your sake, and for our families’ sake.” As with Mr. Winslow, I waited for something like, “Take care of yourself” or “I still think about you,” but this was really all about Bud, and he just said, “Bye.”
I shut off the cell phone and looked at Jill. It occurred to me that two significant men in her life were real schmucks. I said to her, “Typical guy—only calls when he wants something.”
She smiled, stood, and said, “I’m going to lie down awhile.”
I stood and said, “I can promise you one thing—the pressure you’re getting from other people to stay silent will disappear as soon as you make your first public statement.”
She replied, “I don’t feel any pressure. I just feel a lot of disappointment . . . in Mark and in Bud. But I expected that.”
“Maybe they’ll both come around to seeing that this isn’t about them.”
“I’m not holding my breath.” She smiled. “See you later.” She went into her bedroom.
I walked to the window and looked down into the park. The sky had cleared a bit, and people were in the park.
I’d set the dragon loose and pointed it toward Ted Nash and his friends, who were trying to get it back into the cage, or kill it, or point it back toward me.
Meanwhile, the dragon was snacking on Bud, Mark, and their families—but I couldn’t concern myself with collateral damage.
I never thought this would be easy, or pleasant—but in the beginning it was only an abstract problem. Now, with all the players assembled—Kate, Griffith, Nash, Koenig, and a lot of supporting players, like Dom Fanelli, Marie Gubitosi, Dick Kearns, and others—it had become personal and very real.
For the people on Flight 800 and their families, it was always real.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
It was 4:32 P.M., and I was sitting in the living room of the Plaza suite, waiting for a call from Dom Fanelli, saying, “Mission accomplished,” or words to that effect.
Kate’s Delta flight from Cairo was on time, according to the airline recording, and had landed at 4:10. So, I thought I should have heard something from him by now. But the room phone was silent. I checked my cell phone for messages, but there weren’t any.
Jill said to me, “Why don’t you call him?”
I replied, “He’ll call me.”
“What if there’s a problem?”
“He’ll call me.”
She said, “You look too calm.”
“I’m fine.”
“Do you want a drink?”
“I do, but I’ll wait for the phone call to see if I need one or two.”
She said, “I’m looking forward to meeting Kate.”
“Me, too. I mean, seeing her again.” I added, “I think you’ll like her.”
“Will she like me?”
“Why wouldn’t she? You’re very nice.”
She didn’t reply.
At 4:36, I decided to give it until 4:45, then I’d call Fanelli.
At 4:45, I imagined Dom Fanelli in Federal custody, Kate in a car with Ted Nash, and a call from Nash informing me that he’d trade Kate for Jill and the videotape. I could almost hear his voice saying, “John, Kate and I are going to spend some quality time in a safe house until you give up Mrs. Winslow and her home movie.”
I felt, for the first time in many years, a real fear gripping me by the throat.
I thought about my response to a ransom demand from Ted Nash, knowing that this bastard didn’t play by any rules. His endgame was to go for a total shutout—he wanted Jill, the videotape, Kate, and me. So, no matter how I responded to his demands, he’d cheat and lie, and there would be no exchange of prisoners; there would be only a massacre. Therefore, my only possible response to him would be “Fuck you.”
I looked at Jill. I wasn’t giving her up to Ted Nash.
I thought of Kate. She’d understand.
Jill said to me, “You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine. Really.”
She picked up her cell phone and said, “I’m calling Detective Fanelli.”
“No.” I said, “I’ll call.” I turned on my cell phone and waited for a message beep, but there was none. I shut off the cell phone and reached for the room phone just as it rang. I let it ring twice, then answered, “Corey.”
Dom Fanelli said, “Up his ass.”
“Dom—”
“What a total prick. How do you know this asshole? Here’s Kate.”
My heart started beating again, and Kate said, “John. I’m all right. But what a scene that was. Ted—”
“Where are you now?”
“In the back of a police car with Dom.”
I looked at Jill and gave her a thumbs-up, and she smiled.
Kate said, “John, Ted Nash is alive. He was at the airport—”
“Yeah. I know. But I’ve got some good news, too.”
“Why do you think it’s bad news that he’s alive? What the hell is going on?”
“Did Dom tell you anything?” I asked.
“No, but I was able to figure out some of it. Dom says he doesn’t know anything except that he was told by you to pick me up and take me to where you are. Why aren’t you here? What is going on?”
“I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“You’ll see when you get here. It’s best if we don’t talk over the phone.” I said, “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too. I didn’t expect quite this kind of reception. What the hell was Ted—?”
“It’s really a long story for later.”
“Did you find—?”
“Later.”
“Are you all right?”
“I am. But the situation is a little dicey.”
“Which must mean it’s critical. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m all right. You’re all right. Put Dom back on. See you shortly.” I said, “I love you.”
“I love you.”
Fanelli came back on the line and said, “How do you work with these people? They have no respect for the law or the police—”
“Dom, are you being followed?”
“We are. But I called in some more PDs, and in a few minutes these assholes behind us are going to be pulled over for failing to signal.”
“Good work. I owe you one.”
“One? You owe me mucho. Hey, Kate looks great. Nice tan. Did you get a lot of exercise there? You lost some weight. I mean, you always looked great, but I can see you lost weight.”
I realized, of course, he was talking to her, not me. I asked him, “What kind of force did they turn out?”
“Huh? Oh, just four guys, but
they made enough noise for forty. One guy keeps yelling, ‘FBI! FBI! You’re interfering with blah, blah, blah!’ And I’m going, like, ‘Police! Police! Step aside. Get back!’ and all that. I had these two Port Authority cops, and they turned it around with the jurisdiction thing.” He added, “It was fun, but it got a little hairy for a while. Kate completely turned it around by saying, ‘Unless you have a Federal arrest warrant for me, or a Federal subpoena, I demand—’ get it? ‘Demand that you let me pass.’ Well, by now, we’ve got Customs people there, and some airport security cops, and who the fuck—sorry—who knows who else? So, then—”
“Okay. I get it. How many cars are behind you?”
He didn’t reply for a few seconds, then said, “There were two . . . I don’t see any now. You gotta signal when you change lanes. Sometimes people think they signal, but—”
“Okay. What’s your ETA?”
“I don’t know. Rush hour . . . rookie driver behind the wheel—”
I heard a male voice say, “Rookie? Who’s a rookie? You wanna drive?”
I heard some bantering in the car from three males, who had perfected the art of the insult, and I could picture Kate rolling her eyes. I said, “I’ll see you when you get here.” I gave him the suite number again and said, “Tell Kate to shut off her cell phone and beeper, if they’re on.”
“Gotcha. See you later, partner.”
“Thanks, again.” I hung up.
Jill came over to me and gave me a big hug. She said, “You must be so relieved.”
I returned the hug and said, “One less thing to worry about.”
She took my hands and looked at me. She said, “I understand what could have happened if it didn’t go well at the airport.”
I didn’t reply.
She said, “I’m going to leave you alone so you can greet your wife without company.”
“No. Stay. I want you to meet Dom Fanelli—”
“Some other time. Meanwhile, you need one drink.”
She went into her bedroom.
I contemplated the bar for a few seconds, then got myself a Scotch and carried it to the window.
A low blanket of clouds lay over the city, but the TV weatherman had predicted brilliant sunshine for tomorrow morning.
It was odd, I thought, that what had started out as a half day off from work in July to accompany my wife to a memorial service had turned into this.
Kate always had an inkling of where this would go, but I had been clueless. Almost clueless.
And for Jill Winslow and Bud Mitchell, what had started out as a tryst on the beach had become a classic case of doing something wrong in the wrong place at the wrong time.
And now, a little over five years later, all these paths had converged, and they’d meet tomorrow at the crossroads of the Windows on the World.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The doorbell rang
I peeked through the peephole and saw Kate standing there looking, I thought, tense. I opened the door, and she broke into a big grin. She tossed her overnight bag into the foyer, then threw her arms around me. We kissed, hugged, and said all sorts of stupid things.
After about a minute of this, I picked her up off her feet and carried her into the living room.
She looked around the room and asked me, “Did you hit the lottery while I was away?”
“Actually, I did.”
We went back to the kissing and hugging and old Willie Peter was trying to break out of the teepee.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me down on the couch on top of her. Probably it was a good thing that Jill was in her room.
After a few minutes of couch frolic, I said, “You must need a drink.”
“No. I want you to make love to me. Right here. Remember the first time we did it on my couch?” She began unbuttoning her blouse.
I said, “Hold on . . . I’m sharing this suite.”
She raised her head and looked around. “With who?”
I said, “That’s my bedroom there. And that door leads to another bedroom.”
“Oh . . .” She sat up, and I stood. She buttoned her blouse and asked, “Whose bedroom is that?”
“Let me make you a drink.” I went to the bar and asked, “Still vodka?”
“Yes. John, what’s happening? Why are you here?”
“Tonic?”
“Yes.” She stood and came over to the bar. I handed her her drink, took mine, and said, “Welcome home.”
We clinked glasses, and she looked around the room again. She asked me, “Is anyone in that bedroom?”
“Yes. Have a seat.”
“I’ll stand. What’s going on? What was that all about at the airport?”
I said, “I’ve been busy since I got home.”
“You said you were taking R & R at the beach.”
“I was. Westhampton Beach.”
She stared at me and said, “You were looking into the case.”
“I was.”
“I said we should drop it.”
She looked at me a long time, and I said, “You don’t seem overly thrilled.”
“I thought we agreed to let it alone and get on with our lives.”
I replied, “I promised you I’d find that couple, and I have.”
She sat down on the couch and said, “You found them?”
“Yes.” I pulled up a chair, and sat facing her. I said, “First, you have to understand that we may be—actually, we are in some danger.”
She said, “I sort of figured that . . . at the airport. My second clue was when Dom shoved a .38 Special in my handbag.”
“I hope you didn’t give it back.”
“I didn’t. Am I sleeping here tonight?”
“Sweetheart, if you’ve got the gun, you can sleep here with me.”
She smiled. “You’re so romantic.”
I asked her, “Where is Dom Fanelli and the other two cops?”
“Dom left. He said he didn’t want to butt in on our reunion. The two cops are at the elevators on this floor. They said at least one of them would be there through the night.”
“Good.”
“Tell me why we need them.”
“Because your friend Ted Nash would like to get rid of me, you, and Jill Winslow.”
“What are you—? Who is Jill Winslow?”
“The star of the videotape.”
She nodded. “Why would Ted . . . ? Well, I guess I can figure that out.” She looked at me and said, “I’m sorry if I’m not taking this all in as quickly as I should . . .”
“You’re doing fine.”
“I’m jet-lagged, but that’s the least of it—I expected something else when I got home. I expected you at the airport, then we’d go back to our apartment. Instead, all hell breaks loose when I step out of the jetway . . . and now you’re telling me that we’re in danger, and you found—”
“Kate, let me start at the beginning—”
“How did you find them? Did they have a videotape of—?”
“Let me take it from the top.”
She pulled her legs up on the couch. “I won’t interrupt.”
I looked at her and said, “First, I love you. Second, you have a nice tan, and third, I missed you.” Fourth, you lost some weight.
She smiled and said, “You have a nice tan, and you lost a lot of weight. Where did you get that shirt?”
“That’s part of the story.”
“Then tell me.”
I began at Kennedy Airport and my return from Yemen, then Dom Fanelli, Philadelphia, and Roxanne Scarangello.
Kate sat motionless except to bring her drink to her lips. She kept eye contact with me, but I couldn’t tell if she was impressed, incredulous, or so jet-lagged that she wasn’t taking it all in. Now and then she nodded, or opened her eyes wide, but she never said a word.
I continued on, through my midnight ride to the Bayview Hotel, Mr. Rosenthal’s archives, and the discovery of the name of Jill Winslow.
At this point, she a
sked me, “Did you find the guy?”
“I know who he is—a guy named Bud Mitchell—but he’s not under my control.”
“Where is he?”
“Ted has him. He’ll be all right for now, but if Ted determines that Bud Mitchell is more of a liability than an asset, then he goes.”
“Goes where?”
“Goes to where Ted came from.”
She didn’t reply.
I recounted my meeting with Ted Nash on the beach, but downplayed the physical confrontation by saying, “We got into a shoving match.”
She looked at the bandage on my chin, but didn’t say anything.
I told her Ted’s version of the story about how he found Bud Mitchell through fingerprints, then Jill Winslow through Bud, and how Ted and Liam Griffith and the mysterious Mr. Brown visited both these people and learned that the videotape had been physically destroyed. I related Ted’s story to me about the polygraph tests, and his claim that he was convinced that the videotape didn’t show anything that pointed to a missile attack. I said to Kate, “As shocking as this sounds, I think Ted was lying to me.”
She ignored my sarcasm, and asked, “Did Ted say that these people were actually doing it on the videotape?”
“They were. Which was one reason they didn’t want to come forward.”
She looked at me and asked, “So, you could find Jill Winslow?”
“I did.”
“And where is she now?”
“Behind that door.”
She looked at the door, but said nothing.
I continued, “So that night, knowing that Ted Nash was on my case, I went to Old Brookville, where Dom said a Jill Winslow lived.”
I went on with the briefing, trying to stick to the facts while giving her a little of my thought processes that went into this. I mean, I wasn’t blowing my own horn, but as I told the story, even I was impressed with my detective work.
I got to the part where I asked Jill Winslow about A Man and a Woman. I said to Kate, who was sitting up straight now, “That night at the hotel, she copied the beach cassette onto the videotape of A Man and a Woman that she borrowed from the hotel library.” I added, “She used a Band-Aid to cover the slot. Clever lady.” Clever John.
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